


tap tap tapping on the glass

by orphan_account



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Deaf Character, F/F, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, severe abuse of the "sneaking in through window" trope, warnings will be in the beginning notes of all chapters so stay safe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-24 00:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10730037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Frankly, she should have known it would become a pattern- people crawling in through her window, that is. Despite her mother’s efforts, Wendla’s bedroom isn’t actually a prison- there aren’t any bars on the windows to speak of, and there are reasonable visiting privileges. And she’s been told more than often that her house is the perfect place to shoot a bad teen movie, with no surveillance systems, windows without screens, and a tree perfectly placed outside of her second-story bedroom.Or, five times someone snuck in through Wendla's window, and one time they didn't have to.





	1. Hanschen

**Author's Note:**

> ASL is written in [brackets]
> 
> aaaaa i think i traded writing inspiration for the ability to write anything not in this sort of format, rip me. i also wanted to write something that at least started out cute and fluffy but. u and i know these kids smh smh
> 
> this also takes place in like 2010~ in the american south because??? where else can have both religious pressure, a lot of barns, and gross teens???
> 
> warnings for this chapter: mentions of light ableism, but none actually demonstrated

Wendla is studying with Ernst the first time it happens.

Frankly, she should have known it would become a pattern- people crawling in through her window, that is. Despite her mother’s efforts, Wendla’s bedroom isn’t  _ actually  _ a prison- there aren’t any bars on the windows to speak of, and there are reasonable visiting privileges. And she’s been told more than often that her house is the perfect place to shoot a bad teen movie, with no surveillance systems, windows without screens, and a tree perfectly placed outside of her second-story bedroom.

It’s practically begging people to sneak out.

But, sadly, Wendla has been cast as the straight-laced, plucky religious girl who needs to be wooed, so it more often than not leads to people knocking at her window at odd times than her pulling a  _ Mission Impossible _ out of her own home.

Odd times being study sessions with the only boy Mama trusts to be in her room, Ernst Robel, who’s basically sunshine incarnate and has a calculator which graphs in  _ color _ . Wendla thinks that it’s wildly unfair that he gets a better calculator for failing Algebra II, and signs as much to him once he looks up from the box-and-whisker he’s graphing in a cute shade of blue.

Ernst simply grins, and Wendla is about to sign something much more rude before she sees his eyes widen in confusion. She turns around, sneaking a glance at the window above her desk and-

Holy shit.

[ _ Hanschen _ ?] Wendla signs, hitting the ‘H’ too hard against her forehead in shock. Hanschen simply raps on the window again, mouthing to let him in while his hands are occupied on the window sill. Ernst is the one to actually let him in, Wendla still sitting in shock, mentally running through every time Mama had warned her about boys in her room and keeping her virtue.

Ernst pushes the window open easily, stepping back to let Hanschen in. The blond bastard slinks in like a cat, sliding over her desk lithely and leaning in too close to Ernst when he balances on his feet.

“Wendla!” Hanschen says, tapping a ‘W’ against his smug grin and not moving from Ernst’s side. He continues, signing. [And Ernst! I heard that Ernst was here.]

Wendla looks at him blankly. [So, your first instinct was burglarizing my home?] Ernst snickers, his shoulders shaking so much she knows he must be holding back for Hanschen’s sake. Dork.

[I’m not burglarizing your home, Christ.] Hanschen looks towards the ceiling when he signs this, examining her room, leaving Wendla unable to tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. She assumes the former, and pokes his chest in reprimand.

[Well, then, I’m sure you can moon over Ernst on your own time-] Hanschen’s mouth does this weird sort of spluttery cough thing, and Wendla wishes she had a camera. [Because we’re kind of studying here.]

Hanschen raises his eyebrows, [Studying?] he asks, turning towards Ernst expectantly. Ernst just shrugs, still smiling and seemingly unbothered by the Ernst-locating spidey senses that lead Hanschen here. Or maybe he got distracted by the lack of denial about mooning. 

[Wendla’s school uses the same textbook as ours] Ernst explains, nodding his head towards the pile of books on her floor. Hanschen looks at the books, bending over to flip a page in Ernst’s back and forth (which Ernst doesn’t look too bothered by, Wendla files away for later). He straightens back up, looking confused.

[Why are you doing problems fifty-four through sixty?] Hanschen signs, and Ernst furrows his brow before dropping to the floor in a hurry. Wendla follows suit, checking the page they had been doing.

[Mister K-B assigned these, right?] Ernst signs, a panicked look on his face. Wendla groans, burying her head in her arms. She can’t see whether Hanschen signs an affirmative or not, but she has a sneaking suspicion that they’ve been doing the wrong problems for hours.

She looks up blearily when Ernst’s foot nudges her leg. He’s sprawled out in despair over her shag carpet, and Wendla doesn’t think she’s ever related to him more.

Hanschen squats before sitting too, grabbing Ernst’s shoulder in a very hetero way as he repeats his answer to Wendla. [K-B,] Hanschen signs the ‘B’ right against his forehead, and Wendla pauses to consider permanently changing the teacher’s sign to that, [assigned page forty-four and sixty, not the problems you had been doing.] The sound that Wendla must make is more frustration than noise and runs her hands through her hair, kicking at Ernst’s foot.

[How could you mess  _ that  _ up?] She signs bluntly, but not rudely. Usually Ernst knows his assignments inside and out, so that he can accurately complain about them, but he is forgetful about most everything else, so-

Ernst props himself up, hugging his knees to his chest. Wendla pauses her line of thought. He looks like he’s about to cry, from either frustration or embarrassment she doesn’t know. She’s not too worried- almost any emotion can move him to tears if it’s strong enough, he was sobbing about snakes the other day. But she’s still ready to call Thea and break out the rock-filled panty hoes on whoever did this.

[K-B doesn’t sign or write down our homework.] Ernst explains slowly, and Hanschen’s face goes a little red out of anger. Wendla herself wants to punch a wall, but settles for putting her hand on Ernst’s non-fuckboy occupied shoulder. Which, by the way, she takes back even her sarcastic hetero statement about. Hanschen is rubbing his hand back and forth from Ernst’s shoulder to his back, and Wendla would vomit in her mouth if she couldn’t see Ernst slowly start to relax.

[Why didn’t you ask Georg?] Ernst looks up disinterestedly, then shakes his head.

[Absent.]

[Melchior?] Ernst shakes his head again.

[He’s in pre-calc right now.] Hanschen rolls his eyes.

[M has teachers eating out of his ass. He could have gotten K-B’s fucking semester plan if he asked nicely.] Ernst hides a smile in his knees, looking away. Hanschen removes his hand from Ernst’s shoulder to tilt his chin up. Wendla’s going to call the fucking police on these idiots. [Even I would have braved K-B’s classrroom, especially for-]

Hanschen’s signing cuts short when Ernst lets himself fall sideways into his arms, smiling. Hanschen just kind of holds his hands out uselessly while Ernst spells  _ something  _ onto his chest. Wendla blows a raspberry onto her arm, and the two boys jump, Hanschen falling backward and Ernst already pouting.

[No-] Wendla doesn’t use a real sign, instead taking a more direct visual approach which makes Ernst flush and Hanschen cough  _ again _ . [-in my room. Think of the children watching.]

Ernst signs [ _ What children? _ ] at the same time Hanschen signs a vehement denial of her accusations, which includes spelling out H-A-N-K-Y-P-A-N-K-Y.

Wendla twirls her hand before pointing at herself, choosing to ignore Hanschen’s lies as per usual. Ernst rolls his eyes, leaning over to offer Hanschen a hand that he doesn’t let go of even once they’re both properly seated. Wendla mimes a gagging motion, and Ernst sticks out his tongue.

Wendla thinks people must make a sport out of interrupting her incredibly vulgar signing (is this why people think she’s a goody-two-shoes?) because in the middle of tapping a ‘D’ against her nose Hanschen freezes and tilts his head. Ernst and Wendla share a confused look when Hanschen bolts upward, not-subtly squeezing Ernst’s hand before explaining hurriedly.

[Someone pulled into your driveway. Mama?] Wendla’s eyes widen, and she leaps up too, nodding. Ernst gets to his feet slower, grabbing the back of Hanschen’s collar before he can get on Wendla’s desk again.

[If you keep my calculator, can I raincheck studying?] Ernst asks, completely innocently. Wendla rolls her eyes and nods, pushing Ernst’s textbook and binder into his arms, sending him sprawling forward.

[Just hurry and get out of the window before Mama sees you-] Wendla signs, already picturing the thousands of years she would spend grounded if she was caught with  _ two  _ boys in her room.

She thinks she can lip-read Hanschen saying “Why does this always happen when I’m with you?” to Ernst, but she’s too busy tying together her curtains to think of spreading that gossip.

She eyes her phone, lying innocently next to Ernst’s color calculator.

Too busy for  _ now _ .


	2. Martha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings here: mentions of abusive households, and dark implications towards the end of this chapter relating to martha and her father. watch out ??

The second time it happens, Wendla had just gotten back from Shabbat service, untying her scarf when she spots a shadow crouching outside her window, rubbing hands together and shaking slightly. She whips around,  pausing only to think that she might just die without watching that turtle/croc video Ilse sent her, before relaxing the instant she gets a better look.

The figure outside her window is just Martha, hair in nearly-undone braids and shivering in her marching band uniform. Wendla rushes over to open the window, unsure whether to be scared, happy, or both.

[M!] Wendla holds up the letter quickly, but makes up for it by taking Martha’s hands in hers to help the poor girl inside. Martha had moved next door to Wendla two months ago, finally filling the vacancy left by the von Trenks, and had quickly been forced to the Deaf Table™ once the batteries in her earbuds ran out. She molded into the friend group quickly from there, picking up on inside jokes and even going out for yoghurt with them, which was like, friendship third base.

She had also apparently picked up the squad habit of breaking and entering Wendla’s bedroom.

Martha smiles, polite but uncertain, surprised at Wendla’s lack of surprise. [Wendla!] She signs, taking the time to put a more animated smile on her face when she taps it with a ‘W’. [I’m so sorry for coming by surprise, I just-] She falters, starting to sign a few more times before finally settling on the right thing to say. [My mother isn’t home, and the heat still isn’t on, so-] Martha shrugs, nervous.

Wendla nods hurriedly, taking the other girl’s hands to help her off the desk. Martha was always private about her home life, never joining in when others complained about siblings and never bringing it up by herself, either. But spending time with Moritz and Ilse had made Wendla (hopefully) a bit more perceptive to certain… tells.

The same tells she can see in Martha, now, standing in front of her with shoulders braced and eyes flickering to every corner of the room. Martha always wears too much makeup, blending it unevenly across her left cheek and neck, Martha always flinches when noises get too loud, Martha stiffens whenever she thinks someone is behind her.

A sinking feeling fills Wendla’s chest every time she thinks about these things together, the fact that Martha might be private about her home life for a very dark reason.

Wendla bites her tongue, scolding herself for making assumptions. Shaking her head to clear thoughts, she makes sure her expression is as open and inviting as possible when she signs sincerely, [You’re always welcome here.] Martha’s eyes widen, and she looks like she’s about to cry for a moment before nodding hesitantly, relaxing in her perch and moving towards the center of the room and rolling her shoulders.

Wendla smiles, patting Martha’s shoulder in what she hopes is a comforting way. Martha simply looks affronted for a moment before relaxing, a slightly cynical grin creeping onto her face. Wendla feels her own face lighten, too, because when she’s not sitting with her hands in her lap Martha is probably one of the best people to be around. She’s witty and constantly ready with a biting remark and a sly grin. Her sense of humor is dry and a bit morbid, telling jokes most people are afraid to say around Pure Innocent Wendla.

It’s like they think she’s repressed or something, which she _is_ \- but Jewish repression includes sarcasm.

[Do you need anything?] Wendla signs politely, remembering her manners. Maybe- _just maybe-_ manners don’t apply when the guest crawled in through a hole in the wall, but Wendla’s Mama raised her right. Smiling, Wendla keeps her eyes on Martha as she returns to shucking off layers.

Martha’s in the middle of signing something when Wendla looks up from shaking the snow out of her hair, and she hurriedly asks her to restart. Martha flushes.

[Do you have water?] She signs, smiling crookedly. Wendla nods hurriedly, eager to please as she fumbles for the bottles she keeps on her dresser. Martha takes the bottle quickly, chugging it as she signs a makeshift ‘thanks’. She hadn’t noticed how tired Martha looked, eyes dark and forehead lined with sweat despite the cold outside. Wendla furrows her brow.

[Did you run here?] She signs, taking the bottle back from her guest and setting it warily on her dresser. Martha freezes, smiling guiltily as she raises her hands in an universal ‘don’t look at me’ gesture. Wendla purses her lips, a gesture that she _knows_ makes her look like her mother, and leans in to inspect Martha closely.

[So you ran here, after marching in the Winter Parade, and didn’t tell me? When’s the last time you ate- damn, you must be so tired…] Wendla drops her hands when she sees Martha bring her hand to her lips. It didn’t take long for Wendla to make note of how most people looked when they laughed- Ilse flushes all the way down to her neck, Melchior opens his mouth way too wide, and Moritz… must do _something_. Martha’s laugh is the cutest she’s seen by far, though, with the way her eyes crinkle and her hand covers her mouth like a woman scorned.

It’s so cute that Wendla almost forgets that it’s aimed at her.

Wendla thumps an ‘O’ on her heart dramatically, only making Martha laugh harder. She throws her arms up in the air, exasperated- but she can feel her own face twitching with the urge to grin.

[Come, come.] Wendla signs, kicking a bit at Martha’s stuffy band uniform. [I have clothes you can borrow- get changed so you can move your arms properly, I want you to see this movie I snuck past parental controls!]

\-          -          -

It must be an hour later, Martha curled up in Wendla’s gym shorts and a t-shirt Ilse left under definitely normal circumstances and _not_ because Wendla liked to sleep in it, of course not, why would you even think that?- _anyway_. It must be an hour later when Martha finally starts to nod off, drifting away from the closed captions of Mean Girls 2 and into sleep.

Wendla nudges the girl with her foot, careful not to dislodge the popcorn Wendla had convinced Mama only she was going to eat.

[Parents?] Wendla signs, the most basic form of the question she wants to ask. Martha just buries her face back into a sequin-y pillow, hiding her expression from Wendla’s view as she signs a simple [ _No worry_ ].

She hates when people do that, _especially_ when deaf people do that, because it’s hard enough for her to understand what people mean when they (literally, sometimes) spell it out for her, let alone when they hide any indication of what they’re feeling. It’s a trick Moritz pulls way too often, and it makes her kind of want to deck him and hug him at once.

Wendla only wants to hug Martha, who looks so small wrapped around a girly little pink pillow and drowning in other people’s clothes. When the younger girl moves to escape the pile on blankets they’d been watching movies in, Wendla taps her hand to stop her.

[You can stay, if you want.] Wendla signs, hesitant to push Martha’s boundaries but really, truly desperate for her to stay. [I can tell my Mama that your heat just went off, and I’m sure your dad won’t mind-]

Martha shakes her head rapidly, fully separating from the blanket mob and starting to re-braid her hair where it had come loose. [Pa would mind, I think.] At Wendla’s confused look, Martha hurries to sign awkwardly, [I usually make dinner.]

Wendla narrows her eyes, getting up to protest as Martha pulls off Ilse’s top and slinks back into her marching band jacket. The younger girl’s face is stony, but plastered with a smile, like a soldier who’s forcing himself into battle.

Wendla suddenly really, really doesn’t want Martha to leave.

[Can’t he just order out, for once?] Wendla signs feebly, already knowing it’s a bit of a lost cause. Martha shakes her head, untying the curtains and sliding Wendla’s window open. [Martha!] Wendla signs a bit desperately, despite the fact that Martha already has one leg out of her window.

[Sorry. See you soon, Wendla.] Martha half-signs, half-mouths, with an odd wetness to her smile as she closes the window behind her.

Wendla stares out her own window for an embarrassingly long time, until her Mama comes in to complain about the draft let in by open curtains, you silly girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -dont tell me wendla doesnt make it her mission to collect everyones shirts and steal them for herself. she owns the most of mortiz's, because hes forgetful, and also a hella lot of ilse's, because shes gay  
> -next up: mechi gaybor ;0


	3. Melchior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: really brief bit of melchior being a Douche and kissing wendla w o her consent

Wendla is starting to get really, really tired of people bursting in through her window, but it’s not until it happens at _two in the fucking morning_ that she realises it might be a problem.

The kind of problem that leads to sweet girls murdering their childhood friends.

[I don’t have time for this.] Wendla signs slowly, setting her phone screen on her desk so that said childhood best friend can see. It doesn’t seem to deter Melchior ‘I read _les mis_ to make you feel bad’ Gabor, however, because he just grins like a maniac before continuing to mess with her window lock. [I really don’t] She repeats more forcefully, because if she gets caught with local atheist and ““educated”” rebel Melchior in her room past midnight, she might actually be chained to her door.

“Wendla Bergmann.” Melchior says, wrapping his mouth around her name slowly and smoothly, not bothering with her namesign when both hands are busy with, you know, _busting off her window lock_. The way he says her name makes her nervous, something in her stomach chilling and thawing rapidly. It’s not a good feeling, and she looks away, oddly scared.

[Why are you here?] She signs, suddenly eager to be helpful. Wendla hates it, this itch to please that grows especially loud around Melchior, or Ilse. They’re both so big, so much larger than life, and she’s so… _not_ . Ilse lives on her own, modelling and clerking for this apartment of artists neither of them can keep track of, defying everything in this boring little town and having stories to tell every time she comes around. Melchior is the same- going to some private Catholic school with half of the other boys, where he learns about Calculus and takes AP classes and dual enrolls in colleges and knows _everything_ , it seems.

Wendla is homeschooled, taking classes at Temple Beth-El when Mama can’t teach them. The most interesting thing to happen to her is when a particularly interesting bird lands in the backyard. She’s frighteningly aware of the fact that her friends could simply stop visiting her, or lose interest, and she’d be all alone again.

So Wendla doesn’t protest when Melchior slides in through her (now needing slight repairs) window.

[I was bored, and you’re Wendla.] Melchior signs, humor in the part of his face that’s visible. Wendla winces a bit at his wording, but forces herself to smile. [I figured you could use the company. Finals have made everyone so--] Wendla loses track of whatever else he says, focusing more on Melchior now that her eyes have adjusted. His hair is sticking out every which way, his clothing rumpled and loose, and-

Wendla wrinkles his nose, snapping in front of his fact to get attention. [You smell like booze.]

Melchior’s smile falls, but he still doesn’t look at all bothered by her observation. He simply stalks forward, slow and lean, and Wendla feels something (fear? anticipation? she can’t think with cheap beer filling her nostrils and anxiety filling her mind) build up inside of her.

Melchior just passes her by, stumbling to turn on her bedside lamp. Wendla flushes, suddenly aware that she’s not in makeup, with her hair pulled up sloppily and her nightgown wrinkled and childish. She doesn’t feel alright with the way he looks at her, either, like he just found the solution to some vast problem and she’s horribly involved.

[That’s because I’ve been drinking. Booze.] Melchior signs lazily, sitting on the edge of her bed. Wendla furrows her brow, worried for him, but he continues before she can ask. [Not alone, mind, but with the boys. Minus Moritz, add Thea.] He adds as an afterthought. Something curdles in her stomach, the jealousy of not being there making her flush red and sign more angrily.

[Yeah, well, that doesn’t explain why you’d come to _my_ room when you’re drunk.] Wendla looks at him bitterly, [Doesn’t Moritz have an open window, too?]

Melchior’s face darkens, and Wendla is afraid she’s said the wrong thing for a moment before remembering that she’s not supposed to care about that. [Moritz is busy.] He signs, more jerky than before, [Besides, you’re much better company.]

Wendla blushes, and Melchior grins like a cat who found a whole _pail_ of cream. [I doubt that.] She says, humble. Other than long text conversations about philosophy that pick up and start randomly, Melchior doesn’t go out of his way to talk to Wendla one-on-one. There was a brief moment when they were young, not even in highschool, when he had asked her out on a date- but Mama had put an end to _that_ before it could even start.

And she had facetimed him, two days later, that she was probablymoreintogirlsmaybeevengirlsnamedIlseyouneverknowbutireallyenjoyyourcompanyanyway- before he cut off her rambling and taught her a few, more useful words to sign.

Snapping her back to the present, Melchior starts signing again. [No, really,] He sits up straighter on her bed, and she feels almost drawn in by his words, as if under some spell. [You’re brilliant, understanding, Wendla. Remember talking about shame? You would listen, and ask questions, it was so-] he struggles for a word, almost bumping her with his hands when he shakes them, [Satisfying. Intellectually.]

Wendla swallows, unsure what to do with all of the praises suddenly coming her way. She’s vaguely aware that Melchior is still chattering about something, forgetting to sign and simply speaking, too quick and slurred for her to make out any words. Melchior Gabor thought _she_ was brilliant. Intellectually satisfying. Huh.

She was a sedentary girl, born, raised, and probably going to die in the same small town near the Smokies. Melchior was supposed to be the one destined for greater things, Ivy League schools up north where there were thousands of bigger thinkers, like him. But he thought that Wendla, who couldn’t even pass biology, was on par with him.

Her grin could split her ears. Wendla felt like she was flying, suddenly very awake despite the time. Brilliant, understanding, Wendla Bergmann was-

Being kissed by Melchior Gabor.

His lips were dry, chapped, and his mouth was sour with the taste of cheap beer. She felt herself searing at his touch, one of his hands grabbing her waist and the other fumbling around uselessly at her neck. Her heartbeat was probably audible from across the world, her _mother_ was just across the hall, oh shit, ohshit, oh-

Melchior pauses to lean back, chest rising and falling dramatically. He’s looking at her in that odd way, again, like she just gave him the answer to everything, but Wendla-

It didn’t feel good, it felt terrifying, unexpected, _unasked for,_ and in a split second she shoved him back. Melchior sprawled out on her bed, hands falling quickly away from her while she stumbled backward, pressing her hand to her lips, too shaken up to sign. Melchior doesn’t look like he’s going to say anything, either, just content to lay on her bed. Her hands are still shaking.

It’s either a second or a year before she can see him start to say something, propping himself up. She quickly gestures towards her ears, which makes him wince before nodding.

[Did you not… want? That?] Melchior signs, stupidly, looking vaguely ashamed. Rightfully ashamed, Wendla thinks, the anger kicking in quickly- a delayed reaction.

[No!] She signs, forcefully, backing away from him even farther. [You told me I didn’t- I don’t have to- with men, I never want to-] She signs over herself, the barrier between spoken word and her language seeming even thicker than usual. The grammar was different, she couldn’t remember the words she wanted to say, she couldn’t-

[I’m sorry.] Melchior signs, hands calm and steady despite the fact that he looks horrified with himself. _Good_. [I shouldn’t have. Really shouldn’t have.] Wendla shakes her head, forcing down the lump in her throat.

[I don’t need you to- to pity me,] Her hands are jerky, shaky, and tense- every sign of discomfort she’s ever seen in signing. [I know you think I’m sheltered, or something, but I don’t want you to-]

Melchior’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head so quickly Wendla fears it might fly off. [That’s not what I meant to do, I swear I didn’t mean for it to look, feel like that.] Wendla narrows her eyes when he stands, crossing her arms defensively.

She flinches when he draws close enough for her to smell the alcohol on his breath, and he steps back, conflicted. Gazing at him, Wendla startles when he pulls out his phone. For a brief, hysterical moment, she thinks he’s going to call Moritz at 2 AM to settle his problems like he always does, but instead, he pulls open Notes and starts typing.

They’ve always been better at talking via text, with Wendla not able to FaceTime anyone not on her mother’s list (read: any boys), and Melchior tending to forget to sign once he goes off on a tangent. Pulling open apps, or paper and pen as kids, to talk is nothing new, but it still feels strange when he shoves the phone into her hands, flushed and nervous.

_wenda, i am so so sorry if i made you feel scared or uncomfortable or even likqe i was patrronising you .,, i li,,ke u so mmuc,,h and ur very smarta and pr..etty  and love isn't real and i cant thinkk of much thinggs right  Now i MIGHTT.. B,,E DRUNK;; but. youu looked happy an ddi thoughttt.. .,,,  it wssaa, s ign and idk._

His typing is so shaky and he looks so genuine that Wendla is almost inclined to forgive him right on the spot. Sighing, she takes his phone back, taking a brief detour before writing her own response beneath his, bolded so his drunk mind can hopefully understand.

_melchior. that was gross, im gay + im pretty sure i gave no implication that u could kiss me so: wtf. but ur a gemini, and drunk, so i can forgive ur casual forgetting of the fact that im definitely not interested. but if u ever kiss a girl (or boy) without their consent: i will know. i will find u. and i will hurt u. xx wendLa_

Melchior scans his phone twice, pausing to look back up at her between each reading. Eventually, he smiles tightly, leaning in slowly to put his head on her shoulder. Wendla sighs, patting his back twice, before shoving him off again.

[We’ll talk when you’re sober.] She signs, slowly and deliberately making sure he can understand. [Now leave, you degenerate. I need sleep for school tomorrow.]

Melchior nods hurriedly, and as he’s leaving back through her window, Wendla snatches her phone off from her nightstand, quickly texting Hanschen.

**wednyla** : hans. m is coming down ur street drunk and thoroughly embarrassed. make sure he doesnt trip into the sewer or smth xx

 

**yaoi hands** : omw  

Wendla smiles, turning off her bedside light.

She wonders when Melchior will find out she sent his apology note to the groupchat.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -wendla should have thrown melchior out the window. it was almost too tempting for me to write  
> -i used crytyping generator for melchi's note and im not sorry  
> -idk why i put wendla's name as wednyla?? maybe hans misspelled it. maybe wendlas a furry. we just Dont Know


	4. Thea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [asl is in brackets]
> 
> "spoken word in quotations"

It gets to the point where the people in her room multiply when she leaves to get snacks.

[Why is it always _me?_ ] Wendla signs, a bit fondly despite being Fully Fed Up. Ernst flushes, backing away from where he had been helping the intruder off of Wendla’s desk (which was used more as a stepladder than an actual desk, nowadays) to sign something in his defense.

Unfortunately, this leads to _Thea goddamn Rilow_ falling to the floor in a heap, like she wasn’t the most graceful thing to walk the planet in ages. Wendla ignores whatever Ernst is signing, instead moving forward to help Thea up from her bedroom floor, where she had landed awkwardly on Wendla’s pencil case.

[Sorry,] Thea signs, managing to look sorry for a whole second before her usual, Rilow patented smirk reappears. Wendla helps her to her feet, patting her shoulder and dusting off her skirt. [My brother has a boy over, and I didn’t want to stay with _that_ mess for long.]

Ernst furrows his brow, and Wendla has about .0001 second to plan Hanschen’s murder before Thea realises what conclusion they jumped to. [No! God, _no!_ ] She signs hurriedly, looking at Ernst apologetically, while he continues to look a bit like a fish thrown ashore. [My brother has _Melchior_ over- he _is_ a slut, but he has standards. I just don’t want to be a witness to the murder that their study session will inevitably lead to.]

[I almost died, Thea, Christ.] Ernst signs weakly, resting both hands over his heart empathetically. Wendla can’t hold back from laughing at his dramatics, and judging by the hurt look on Ernst’s face, it must have been loud. His nose crinkles too, the tell-tale sign of him forcing back a reaction.

[Please don’t die, Ernst, then whose study sessions would I interrupt?] Thea signs, making herself comfortable on the floor. Wendla stares at her in disbelief.

[You _knew_ Ernst was here?] Thea nods, looking at Wendla like she’s a crazy person. Now that she thinks about it, she probably looks like one, pulling on her hair and shaking her head in shock. [Did the Rilows put a chip in you? Is Melitta waiting at the door with a Ernst-detector?] She asks, facing Ernst with only partially-fake worry.

Ernst just shrugs, what Wendla considers to be a very nonchalant reaction to being stalked by your boyfriend’s siblings. Thea rolls her eyes when Wendla points dramatically. [I’m not joking. I’ve seen Fifty Shades of Grey, I know what you rich people do to trusting brunettes.]

[No way you’ve seen _Fifty Shades of Grey_ , your mother would be rolling in her grave.] Thea calls her bluff. Wendla blushes, suddenly becoming very interested in the graphing function on her calculator.

[...I’ve seen a very aggressive review of it.] She concedes, and Ernst nods knowingly.

[Ilse text you about it at three a.m. too?] Wendla nods, grinning, and Thea rolls her eyes.

[Well _of course_ Wendla got Ilse’s rant about it, they’re poster lesbians. Like, one-third of their conversations are complaining about straight media.]

[Thea, you’re about to major in Queer Studies. You are _literally_ building a career out of complaining about straight media.] Thea shrugs, unashamed, and shoots Ernst finger guns when he giggles.

[Speaking of straight media,] Thea begins ominously, [I brought National Treasure just in case you two nerds can take a break from studying long enough to do something useful. Like watch it.] Wendla claps her hands, ignoring Ernst’s protests until he flicks her.

[We have finals in two weeks, guys, we can’t afford to-] Thea leans forward, pressing her finger to his lips in a technically useless gesture that shuts him up anyway.

[I’m the Slutty Rilow, I’m here to be a bad influence.] Thea signs, self-deprecatingly. The triplets had long since been called the Smart Ass Rilow (Hanschen), the Snooty Rilow (Melitta) and the Slutty Rilow (Thea). Thea didn’t seem to mind getting the short end of the stick, since all of her siblings got only slightly less short ends, but it still made Wendla wince a little every time she applied the nickname to herself.

[Well, technically we would be studying… The Declaration of Independence is U.S. History…] Ernst concedes, already taking off his blazer to be more comfortable. Wendla grins, and Thea nods enthusiastically.

[It’s definitely on the finals- “What document, starring side-by-side with Nicolas Cage, famously declared that ‘all men are endowed with certain unalienable rights’?”] Wendla nods along with Thea, booting up her laptop while the older girl roots around in her backpack for the USB. Movies with Thea were the best, mainly because she shared the same taste in movies as Wendla (cheesy, campy musicals and/or meme movies), but also because she had a never ending bag of snacks and _really comfortable_ arms to lean on.

When she finally has the disk-slot in her laptop open (and has finally gotten Thea to rename the file to ‘bill-nye-biology.mp4’ so it’s not suspicious when her mom checks it), she turns to see Ernst halfway through braiding Thea’s hair, shrugging when Wendla asks him how he’s going to sign.

[I just have really braidable hair, apparently,] Thea translates when Ernst whispers in her ear. [And I can’t say no to that face.] Thea reaches back Wendla smiles tightly in understanding, handing the laptop over to where Thea is sitting in the V of Ernst’s legs. Wendla wonders, not for the first time, if every Rilow is genetically predisposed to be whipped by Ernst. Her science project for this year is on genetics, actually…

She pulls herself out of her thoughts when the screen finally is graced by the brilliance of Nick Cage’s absent, yet deeply penetrating gaze towards her from the menu screen.

[You ready for-] Wendla cuts her own signing off when she glances at the pair beside her. Thea’s hands are moving, but not signing, simply gesticulating the way they do naturally when she talks. Her lips are moving, too, but from this angle are indecipherable to Wendla. A pang of annoyance stabs her right in the gut, at the fact that Ernst and Thea can understand eachother but she’s left stranded, unable to recognise what they’re talking about. Shaking herself out of her brief bout of envy, Wendla moves to tap Thea on the shoulder.

Only, she doesn’t.

Ernst’s eyes are soft, lips upturned in an almost ridiculously giddy smile as he chats about whatever. Thea, too, seems more at ease than Wendla’s seen the girl in years, tucking pieces of hair Ernst missed behind her ear and seeming as far away as always.

Wendla hasn’t seen her two friends this at ease since middle school, and she suddenly desperately wants to know what they’re talking about. Her lip-reading skills are subpar; her father was deaf, and her mother saw no need to sign her up for any classes on the subject. All she could grasp were the vague ideas, and occasionally specific words.

Right now, the same movements were repeated on both their lips, one of the names Wendla had learned to identify on anyone’s lips- mainly because impressionable girls and boys kept yelling it in the cafeteria- “Hanschen”.

“Hanschen- very nice, sometimes,” Wendla could catch Ernst saying, and her heart lifted as she fought to hold back literally cooing. _Of course_ Thea and Ernst were gushing over Hanschen, what else? Ernst had turned the boy from some sort of ethereal being made of decent sarcasm and better dick into a person, who would let himself be caught laughing and smiling (the horror!), and Thea was happy that her brother’s better sides had been exposed to more people than just her and Melitta. It was a symbiotic relationship, where Ernst gives Thea a less-edgy brother and Thea doesn’t murder Ernst, which is a much kinder treatment than Hanschen’s other signifs (conquests?) had gotten.

Wendla smiles, tapping Thea on the shoulder to get her attention.

[The movie’s about to start, dorks. You don't want to miss it.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAA THIS IS SO LATE AND PROBABLY SOUNDS REALLY DIFFERENT HALFWAY THROUGH I'M SORRY!! finals and end of course tests AND band tryouts were the last two weeks, so i could only write for about ten minutes a day, sorry for this being shORT and lazily ended rip
> 
> -thea and hanschen and melitta are triplets and you can pry that fact from my cold, useless hands  
> -"ernst can hear??? and speak?? explain you fool": ernst (in this au i think??) is HoH, and uses hearing aids. around fellow D/deaf people, he usually forsakes them, but lets say he was coming back from school on that day or smth.  
> -thea is the biggest bi ive ever met and she seems extra enough to take Queer Studies so

**Author's Note:**

> -the joke about Knochenbruch's namesign is that from what i can see it's just a K-B??? but the way hanschen signs it includes the sign for 'bastard', which is B against the forehead lol
> 
> -LET WENDLA SIGN FUCK
> 
> -next time: martha appears!!


End file.
